


Goodbye Is Too Sweet a Word

by LSquared80



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1960s Westeros, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogfight (the movie), F/M, Stole the plot from a movie, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: Jaime and his fellow soldiers are spending their last few nights on Tarth before deployment. A mean-spirited bet leads him to Brienne.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try my hand at a Modern AU and scanned my collection of DVDs for inspiration. When I landed on the 1991 movie, Dogfight, I knew it had Jaime and Brienne written all over it. 
> 
> In case you're not familiar, it's the story of Marines spending their final night before deployment in San Francisco. They decide to have a "dogfight" - a contest where they compete to bring the ugliest date (the girls unaware).

**Westeros, 1963**

 

The four men – boys, really – began basic training as enemies. They had grown up in different parts of the world, with loyalties to different leaders and sports teams and gods. But the war needed soldiers, and after ten weeks of weapons training and drills, the men were a united front. It was suggested they blow off steam before being deployed to Castle Black, and when word spread of a ship leaving for Tarth, Jaime Lannister was the only one who needed convincing. 

 

“It’s a fucking island,” Oberyn Martell said, shaking Jaime by the shoulders. “Cliffs to dive off of. Water everywhere.” 

 

“Girls in that water,” Euron Greyjoy added, rubbing his hands together. 

 

Jaime looked to Ned Stark, a soft-spoken voice of reason. But the young man shrugged and said, “Sounds like fun.” 

 

* 

 

“Brienne! Order up.” 

 

Brienne Tarth slapped her book shut, leaving it on the counter, and walked toward the kitchen. She picked up two plates from the window – a cheeseburger and the meatloaf special – and set them on a tray. She carried the tray against her hip to table eleven, delivering the meals to an older couple she waited on every Friday. 

 

She saw a hand waving at her from table fifteen. She knew it was Duncan Granit and one of his equally obnoxious friends. Brienne took a deep breath, reminding herself it was her job to check in with them. To be polite. To be of service. 

 

It was a blessing and a curse to be a Tarth. Her ancestors built the island up from sand and rock to the quaint, thriving place it was. Her father owned the Sapphire Diner, the longest running business on all of Tarth. But it meant she had to withstand people’s cruelty with a smile. She couldn’t complain about being mocked and mistreated because the people being cruel were the reason her family had an income. 

 

“Can I help you?” she asked, towering above the table. 

 

Duncan grinned. “I’m hoping you can settle a bet. My friend wants to know why you don’t wear a skirt like the other waitresses. He thinks it’s because they don’t make skirts for giants and I said it’s because you’re not really a woman. Which is it?” 

 

She fixed her eyes on the table, on a smear of ketchup and a crack in the Formica. If she looked at their two drinks, the glasses filled to the brim with ice and soda, it would be too tempting to accidentally dump the icy beverages on their laps. “Enjoy your meals,” she said before walking away. 

 

* 

 

Tarth was not a bad place to spend the last few days of your civilian life, Jaime decided. The geography was stunning – craggy cliffs, distant mountains capped with snow, lush green valleys – and the sea was the most astonishing shade of blue he had ever seen. The air smelled clean, like saltwater and inexplicably, lavender. But the boys weren’t interested in the landscape or seascape; they wanted to know what kind of women inhabited the island. 

 

Five hours in, they were buzzed on ale and had flirted with a group of pretty sisters selling stone fruit at their family’s stand. Euron had gotten into a fight with a man outside a tavern and they lost Oberyn only to see him emerge from an alley zipping his pants, a girl on his arm. 

 

“Look at this,” Euron said, waving them over to a wall covered in flyers and advertisements. He pointed to a yellow piece of paper with big, block letters announcing a dance at a nearby tavern. The draw was unlimited ale for a minimal entrance fee and the cost of food. “Anyone up for a dogfight?” 

 

Jaime rolled his eyes. “I don’t think-” 

 

“I’m in,” Oberyn said. 

 

Ned asked, “Dogfight?” 

 

Euron laughed. “Stark, you’re too good. It’s a contest. Whoever shows up at that dance with the ugliest date wins.” 

 

“That sounds... mean,” Ned said, but then quickly added, “Well, okay.” 

 

All three of them looked to Jaime, the lone hold-out. He knew about dogfights. His eyes trailed from Oberyn to Euron to Ned. Somehow, the men had become his brothers as much as Tyrion. He knew it was likely only one of them, or none of them, would leave Castle Black alive. 

 

Jaime said, “Let’s have ourselves a dogfight.” 

 

They cheered, doling out high-fives. Euron looked at his watch and said, “The dance is tomorrow night. We have twenty-four hours, gentlemen. Let the games begin.” 

 

* 

 

The other girls were going out, with their boyfriends or with each other. Brienne liked to pretend she had no choice but to stay and work late – it _was_ her father’s diner – or she too would be fixing up her face and putting on a cute outfit. 

 

Brienne wiped rings of coffee stains from a booth and caught sight of her reflection in the window. She wore the blue uniform shirt and apron, but instead of the typical skirt, she wore the same pants as the men who cooked and bussed tables. If pressed, she would say it was more comfortable considering how many hours she had to put in. The truth was, Brienne was uncomfortable showing her legs. All her life, her height was remarked on as though she were an abomination. A crime against what a woman should be – petite and meek and pretty. 

 

It didn’t help that she had an aversion to long hair. It made sense to keep it short working at the restaurant, but Brienne also had no interest in the upkeep. When her hair was any longer, it was somehow puffy and frizzy and unruly. 

 

She turned away from the window, heading back to the counter. The bus boy was looking at the book she had been reading throughout the day. It was the biography of Barristan Selmy, a fabled war hero. He looked at her with confusion, as if to ask why she wasn’t reading a romance novel like other women did. “Mind your own business,” she said, swiping the paperback away and into the pocket of her apron. 

 

* 

 

“Twenty hours to go,” Oberyn announced. “We should probably separate so it’s a surprise who we bring.” 

 

The others agreed enthusiastically and parted ways, leaving Jaime on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. He wandered for a while, hiding a yawn behind his hand. He saw plenty of pretty women and plain women, but no one he would characterize as ugly. What did ugly mean, anyway? Old? Disfigured? 

 

Jaime had been surrounded by beauty his whole life – his mother until she died, his sister, the ladies who crowded around his father. The only reason Jaime himself didn’t have a roster of beautiful girlfriends was his strict upbringing and entering into the military at eighteen. He had wanted to spend his days before the war bedding someone exquisite and instead, to please the friends he may lose to bloodshed, he was prowling the streets for someone hideous. He decided he might as well have fun with it. 

 

He turned the corner and spotted a diner. Jaime needed coffee and looked both ways before dashing across the street. He glanced up at the sign made of block letters glowing electric blue, spelling out Sapphire Diner. Bells chimed when he opened the door. The interior lights were on, but he began to think they were closed; all the tables and booths were empty and the only thing on the counter was a coffee pot. 

 

Jaime turned to the door, reaching for the handle when he heard a voice call out, “Sit wherever you’d like,” and so he picked the furthest booth against the window. He was reading the paper placemat – the history of the island with a map – when a shadow darkened the table and a menu landed beside his arm. 

 

“What can I get you to drink?” 

 

He looked to the side and had to tilt his head back to see the face of the waitress. She had to be taller than Jaime by at least two inches. Her shoulders were broad, and while the shirt she wore was loose around her chest, he could tell there wasn’t much there to see. Her hair was shorn close to her head; she had little more than he did with his soldier’s buzz cut. Without a trace of makeup on her face, the woman’s skin was ghostly white, almost translucent. Her nose was crooked and the skin above her upper lip was dented by a scar. Wide, blue eyes were the woman’s prettiest feature, and he thought her plump lips would be appealing if she didn’t seem to have them permanently set into a scowl. 

 

“Coffee,” he finally answered, watching as she walked away. The ill-fitting pants she wore sagged in the back, concealing whether or not she had a nice ass. 

 

She returned a moment later, setting a mug in front of him and filling it with hot coffee. Her proximity allowed Jaime a chance to read the name on her tag – Brienne. 

 

“Have you decided on food?” 

 

“Nothing else for now,” Jaime told her. 

 

She rolled her eyes, calculating her small tip. 

 

He lifted the mug to his face, the aroma alone waking him. He watched as Brienne dragged a stool to behind the counter and sat down. She poured a cup of coffee for herself and removed a paperback book from her apron. He squinted, trying to see the cover. 

 

Jaime sipped his coffee and watched Brienne through the corner of his eye. He decided she wasn’t ugly so much as she was odd-looking. Unique. Unusual. Surely there were uglier women on Tarth. 

 

He stood up and carried his coffee mug to the counter, and Brienne hastily pushed away from where her arms rested on the surface, standing to her full height. “I’m sorry. If you need a refill I’ll be right over,” she said. 

 

Jaime shook his head and sat on one of the stools. “No, it’s fine,” and poured more into his cup. 

 

“You can’t do that,” she snapped. 

 

“I think I just did?” 

 

Brienne sighed. “It’s my job to pour the coffee. I get paid to pour the coffee. I earn tips for pouring the coffee. If customers could just walk around and pour their own coffee, I would never make any money.” 

 

Jaime picked up his mug and turned it over, dumping the liquid back into the pot. “There,” he said. He held the mug out toward her. “May I have more coffee?” 

 

She huffed and picked up the pot, pouring so much in that he would have to bend and sip from it before picking it up. 

 

Jaime lingered there. 

 

“What?” she asked, annoyed. 

 

“I was trying to see what book you’re reading.” He looked down at where the book was trapped beneath her palm. 

 

“Oh,” she said, slowly moving her hand. 

 

Jaime leaned forward, tilting his head to read the title out loud. “Selmy: The Hero of Westeros.” He looked up at her. 

 

“I know, I know,” Brienne said, slapping her hand back on the tattered cover. “What’s a woman doing reading a story of war?” 

 

Jaime shook his head. He reached across the counter and picked her hand up, moving it aside so he could sweep the book toward him. “I was going to say this is my favorite. I must have read it five-thousand times one summer.” He turned it over and could tell by the creases in the spine and the faded colors that Brienne had read it at least that many times, maybe more. He leafed through the pages and saw words or entire sections underlined or circled. The edges of some pages were warped as though she’d read it in the tub. “Barristan Selmy is why I joined the army.” 

 

Brienne looked at him, holding her gaze on his face for the longest stretch of time since she’d first taken his drink order. “The army?” 

 

He gently pushed the book toward her again. “Are you one of those people out there protesting with signs and chants about peace?” 

 

She shook her head. “No. I wish that I could actually...” 

 

“What?” Jaime asked. 

 

Brienne picked the book up and it disappeared from his view, going back into the pocket of her apron. “It’s silly to say because it will never be possible.” 

 

“What?” he pressed. 

 

“I wish that I could fight alongside you.” Brienne paused, looking stricken. “I mean, not alongside _you_ in particular. I don’t even know you. I just mean that I wish women were allowed to be soldiers.” 

 

He didn’t think it possible but she paled even more. Jaime had never known a woman who would want to fight, and it surprised even him that he liked the sound of it. He wiped his hand on his thigh and reached across the counter as he said, “I’m Jaime. Jaime Lannister.” 

 

Brienne hesitated before lifting her hand to shake his. “Brienne Tarth.” 

 

He held onto her a beat longer than he meant to. “Tarth?” he repeated, letting go and folding his hands on the counter. 

 

“Yes. My family discovered the island, I suppose you could say. My father owns this place,” she said, sweeping a hand in the air. 

 

Jaime nodded, impressed. “It’s a nice place. What time do you close?” 

 

She bit her lip and then said, “Ten minutes ago.” 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He started to reach into his pocket for his wallet. 

 

“It’s fine,” she said. “Stay and finish. Soldiers drink free here.” 

 

* 

 

Jaime learned over breakfast that his friends had all scored a dog the night before, each one swearing his was the ugliest by far. The way they bragged and mocked him as the likely loser sparked his competitive nature. After leaving them, he was determined to be the victor. 

 

He spotted a stout young woman exiting a bakery but she would not give him the time of day. He struck out with the cashier at the convenience store. Jaime was turned down by a matronly woman carrying groceries to her car and got slapped by someone who said she was happily married. 

 

Five hours remained before the dance and he regretted not trying harder the night before. He walked the streets, oddly angry at the beauty around him, and found himself standing across from the Sapphire Diner. 

 

The bells chimed as he entered. It was more crowded and louder and when an older woman said, “Sit anywhere you’d like,” he told her, “I’d like to sit in Brienne’s section.” She made a face, surprised and intrigued, and led him to an open booth. 

 

Jaime sat and tapped his foot on the floor. He didn’t think Brienne was hideous, but he thought with a little work she could be quite unattractive. He thought he stood a chance of winning if she wore her uniform to the dance. 

 

On the other side of the room, the older woman tugged on the sleeve of Brienne’s shirt and said, “A young man wanted to sit in your station.” 

 

Brienne looked at her, confused. She turned to face the dining area and her eyes landed on Jaime. She felt a flutter in her stomach and then a wave of nausea. The only time young men requested her was to mock her. It was as much a draw of the Sapphire Diner for them as the root beer floats. “Thank you, Gladys, but can you take that table?” 

 

Gladys reminded Brienne the young man had asked for her. “He’s nice looking. Remember what I always tell you?” 

 

“Yes,” she said. Gladys had advised her more than once that if she never gave people a chance, she’d never know if they were good or not. She had often asked Brienne to think of all the people she encountered in a day, and if she assumed they all had ill intentions, how many possible friends or lovers was she shunning without so much as a hello? 

 

Brienne marched out from behind the counter and to the booth, standing with her hands on her hips. 

 

“Hi,” Jaime said. 

 

“What are you... why did you...” 

 

He smiled. “I think you’re supposed to ask if I want anything to drink.” 

 

“What can I bring you to drink?” 

 

Jaime said, “What is your favorite milkshake?” 

 

She stuttered, not expecting the question, before settling on, “Cookies and cream.” 

 

“Sounds good,” he said. “Bring two.” 

 

Brienne returned a while later and set one shake in front of Jaime and the other across the table. “Would you like me to take it back until your friend arrives?” she asked. 

 

He shook his head and gestured toward the seat across from him. “I got that for you.” 

 

She blinked. “Me?” 

 

“I was thinking how I never meet anyone who likes reading about Selmy as much as I do. You know they’re going to make a movie about him?” 

 

Brienne’s eyes brightened. “They are?” 

 

Jaime nodded enthusiastically. “A part one and a part two. There’s too much for only one film.” 

 

She found herself sliding onto the bench seat and clutching her hand around the cold glass. “I wonder who will play him?” 

 

* 

 

Brienne spent her shift alternating between taking orders and sitting with Jaime and delivering food and sitting with Jaime. He would forget why he was there until a glance at the clock reminded him. 

 

With only three hours left, Jaime knew he had to make his move. He saw Brienne take off her apron and got up from his seat, rushing to where she stood near the cash register. “You’re leaving?” he asked. 

 

She nodded. “In a few minutes.” 

 

“Oh. Alright. Well, hey... can I ask you a question?” 

 

“Okay. Sure.” 

 

Jaime had been planning to affect a nervousness, but what he felt was real. “There’s this dance tonight. My buddies want to go. You know, one last night out before we deploy.” He paused, trying to read her face. “So, the thing is, I thought we were all going to have some drinks and some laughs. But the guys all went and got dates. I don’t want to be the only one alone. Would you go with me?” 

 

Brienne’s immediate reaction was to say, “Of course not,” and brush past him and out the door. 

 

He caught up with her on the sidewalk, his fingers swiping at her back until she stopped and faced him. “Did I say something wrong?” 

 

“No, not exactly. I don’t like dancing.” 

 

He shrugged. “We don’t have to dance. We can just listen to the music and share a pint of ale.” 

 

“I don’t drink ale.” 

 

“Wine, then,” he said. 

 

“I don’t think so.” 

 

The door opened onto the sidewalk and two young men emerged. They stopped to glare, confused by the sight of someone who looked like Jaime spending his time on Brienne Tarth. She glanced toward the window and noticed one of the waitresses had been staring as well, perplexed by the odd couple on the sidewalk. 

 

“Why are you asking me?” Brienne wanted to know. 

 

Jaime looked down at the ground, arms hanging dejectedly at his sides. “I thought you might be interested in helping a solider out, that’s all. My friends and I, we don’t know how much longer we have. If we’ll come back. I wouldn’t normally go for a dance like this but it’s important to them.” 

 

“But why are you asking _me_?” She couldn’t fathom a world where a boy with beautiful bone structure and strong, masculine hands would voluntarily spend time with her. But there was something that made her consider the slightest chance he liked her, in some way, and thought she would be enjoyable company. 

 

He decided to try a new tactic and said, “Forget about it, okay? You probably wouldn’t have fun anyway.” 

 

Brienne tilted her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, grinding her teeth. She released a huff of breath and said, “Fine. Alright. I’ll go.” 

 

He smiled, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “Okay, great. You can even wear your uniform if you want.” 

 

“I own other clothes.” 

 

“I’m only saying, I don’t expect you to go through a lot of trouble. I’ll pick you up in two hours. Where do you live?” 

 

“Here,” she said, and Jaime laughed. “Upstairs,” she clarified. 

 

He smiled and said, “I’ll see you in two hours.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets ready for the dance and Jaime begins to regret his decision. He tries to turn the evening into something else, but an encounter with one of his friends puts them right back into the contest.

The weak spray of water from the showerhead scalded her skin. Brienne scrubbed shampoo in her hair, rinsed, and scrubbed again. She rubbed a small square of soap under and along her arms and dragged it across her breasts. Suds on her hands, she reached between her legs and felt silly for even worrying about the wiry hairs there; no man had ever gone there, and she was not the kind of woman a man as good looking as Jaime Lannister bedded before going off to war. In truth, he was probably going to meet a prettier girl at the dance. He was likely to leave with his arms around someone with straighter teeth, a young lady who had to look up to see him. 

 

She was only going to the dance because she supported the soldiers and because for once, saying she couldn’t work late because she had plans was true. Brienne wanted to prove to herself more than anyone that she could be more than the Tarth girl who worked at her father’s diner. That she could wear a dress, if she wanted to. And she could hear Gladys telling her, “If you never give people a chance you won’t know if they mean well or not.” A soldier was honorable; if anyone was worth taking a chance on it was Jaime. 

 

Wrapped in a towel, Brienne stood in front of her closet and frantically dug through every garment she’d ever owned and most of what she’d inherited when her mother died. She put on various combinations of pants and blouses. She considered a long skirt, but none of her tops went with it. The bed was hidden under clothes when she finally decided to reach to the far back of the closet where she kept her mother’s dresses. The only one in her size was emerald green with a darted bodice and a row of buttons on one side from the waist to mid-thigh. It had sleeves cuffed above the elbow and a tiered skirt, the bottom layer hitting several inches above her ankles. Brienne’s least favorite part of the dress was the V-neckline. She inherited her small breasts from the women on her father’s side of the family; her mother’s more ample bosom had filled the dress out rather well. On Brienne it hung loose and she had to constantly adjust it. 

 

The other problem with the dress was that it had been purchased a solid fifteen years ago, but nothing Brienne owned could exactly be called of the times. She shook her head at her reflection, throwing her arms up to say _this will have to do._

 

* 

 

The bus dropped Jaime a block away from the diner. He stopped in front of a storefront and checked his reflection in the window. He buttoned and unbuttoned the sport coat he wore. He settled on buttoned to make up for not having a tie, and then wondered why he cared so much. It wasn’t a date. 

 

Jaime walked the rest of the way and stopped on the sidewalk, staring at the doorbell that would alert Brienne of his presence. His finger hovered near the button. He thought about their brief time together so far, how comfortable he felt in her company. How he had never met a girl like her, a girl he could talk to about war and sports but still got excited about her favorite handsome movie stars. Jaime withdrew his hand, jamming both into his pants pockets. He turned and walked three steps, stopped, and realized that for as cruel as the contest was, he’d be hurting Brienne all the same if he never bothered to show up. 

 

* 

 

In the bathroom, she found a bag under the sink with all of her mother’s makeup. She looked through the compacts and cases and tubes and started with blush called Grapefruit, but she misjudged the amount to use. The color looked closer to the pink flesh of the fruit in the oval case, but on her face it was more the color of the bumpy skin of a tangerine. She used a tissue to swipe until it was faded to her liking. Next, Brienne used a small brush to sweep a pale beige on her lids. It barely showed so she added more, and then more until it was far too dark. She scrubbed her eyelids with a tissue until the skin around her eyes was red. 

 

Brienne hated to risk using lipstick improperly, but without it her lips were ghastly pale and dry. She dabbed a dusty pink there, pressing her lips together. The color alone was a lovely shade, but it clashed with the blush. She had to forego making a change, though, when she heard the doorbell buzz. 

 

She nervously flitted about the small space and suddenly realized she hadn’t done anything with her hair. It was drying oddly, pieces in the front sticking up. She scrunched it with her fingers, trying to give body where it was thicker in the back. The doorbell rang shrill again and she nearly growled at her reflection before turning the light off. 

 

Jaime waited on the sidewalk, tilting his head back to see the lights in her apartment. He saw them turn off one by one and braced himself for her arrival. A few minutes later the door opened and Brienne appeared. His eyes were on her feet and the slight heel in her shoes, giving her another inch or so on him. That would be a point in his favor from the other guys; they would think it wasn’t attractive to have a woman taller than her date. He lifted his gaze to her where her legs were bare and thought they would deduct points; she had long, lean legs that were pleasing to the eye. The dress was a bit old-fashioned, but it proved she had a figure with its cinched waist, and that would lose him points. He gained, though, by the way it fit poorly around her small chest, and the others would see a small chest itself as a mark of being ugly. 

 

Jaime’s real chance for victory was above her shoulders. Brienne’s hair was a mess, as though she’d tried curling the short strands and given up halfway through. Her face was puzzling with a dark sweep of orange-tinted blush, the skin around her eyes bare but blotchy, and a pink glaze on her lips that strayed outside the lines slightly on one side. He wanted to lick the back of his fingers and brush her hair flat. He wanted to wipe at her cheeks with the sleeve of his coat. Yet, he thought, it was oddly endearing. Not ugly. She wasn’t a woman who used face paint, as his father would say. She always showed her real face to the world. 

 

“Sorry for the wait,” Brienne said. 

 

He shrugged, shook his head, jammed his hands in his pockets. His date was ridiculously tall, wore a relic of a dress, and had sloppily applied paint on her face. Jaime had a solid chance at winning the contest, which was the reason heat climbed from his feet to his head, and a wave of nausea made him want to lean over the nearest trash can and lose the contents of his stomach. 

 

* 

 

Two blocks from the tavern Jaime stopped walking and Brienne bumped into him. “What’s the matter?” she asked. 

 

He must have looked pale. He was sweating under his sport coat. With every step they took, Jaime was reminded of the effort Brienne had put into getting ready for a dance. He thought about her Selmy book, and how earnest she’d been about wishing to fight alongside them in the war. He was being cruel, even if he had good intentions to give his friends a memorable evening. 

 

Jaime spied an arcade and asked, “You been in there?” 

 

She shook her head. 

 

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. 

 

“But your friends.” 

 

“We have time for a game or two,” he said, leading her down the sidewalk. 

 

Brienne couldn’t control her lips from spreading into a smile, and she was sorry when he let go of her to open the door to the arcade. The interior was bright and buzzing and Jaime was like a child, darting from pinball machines to racing games to Skee-Ball. He encouraged her to try them all, standing beside her, hovering, brushing against her in a way that made her blush and tingle in her toes. When he spotted a photo booth, she resisted at first. He climbed in and tugged on her hand, and there wasn’t enough room on the stool for the both of them, so he pulled her onto his lap. 

 

After, when the photo strip dropped down into a cup, he showed it to her – four black and white photos of their faces, smiling in one, sticking their tongues out in another, then looking at each other laughing, trying to be serious in the last. Jaime carefully tore it in half and asked, “Which do you want?” 

 

She was so touched that he wanted to keep any at all that Brienne spent several moments trying to find her voice. “The last two,” she said, and he dropped the strip onto her palm and slid the other carefully into the inside pocket of his coat. 

 

“Shouldn’t we go?” Brienne asked. 

 

He spotted a self-playing piano on the other side of the room and said, “One last thing,” leading her there. Jaime dropped a coin into a slot and the keys began to move, playing a song you could waltz to. He asked, “May I have this dance?” 

 

Brienne had danced with a boy once. She was two heads taller and stepped on his toes for the duration of the song. But when Jaime made a circle of his arms and she stepped closer, one of his hands coming to rest against the small of her back while the other gently clasped hers, they were looking into each other’s eyes. She only kicked against the toes of his shoes twice. 

 

He was silly at first, dancing as though they were in the Victorian era, acting out scenes he had seen in movies. Soon, though, he tightened his arm around her and drew their clasped hands to his chest. Jaime’s heart seemed to skip a beat every time the front of her chest or her hip brushed against him. He looked at her face, willing her to meet his gaze. He tilted his head, leaning closer and closer until suddenly the song stopped and the piano was inanimate and a gaggle of teenagers barged through the doors. 

 

They broke apart and Jaime glared at the younger teens. Brienne said, “Speaking of dancing...” 

 

Jaime smiled and they walked out, not quite holding hands. “You know,” he said, “I’m starving. I don’t know what kind of food will be there. Why don’t we go somewhere else and eat?” 

 

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “I’m sure the food will be fine.” 

 

“I don’t want to risk it.” He looked around and spotted a place across the street. 

 

She had gotten herself excited about the dance. About being in a tavern with other young men and women their age. Music, wine, dim lights. She was proud for having made the effort, for breaking out of her comfort zone of baggy pants and shirts. She had gotten ready and he had shown up. Even if his intentions were not romantic, Brienne felt protected against the usual cruelty of men her age by being in Jaime’s company. The arcade was fun, but it was for children. “You don’t want to be terribly late and miss the whole thing.” 

 

Jaime thought _you have no idea_. He held a hand to his stomach. “I don’t think I can wait that long to eat.” 

 

“It’s right down th-” 

 

He grabbed her arm, leading her toward the restaurant, and Brienne began to feel as though he were growing wary of being seen in public with her. 

 

* 

 

She pushed tortellini around her plate and said, “I guess I feel stuck. Like I have no choice but to work at the diner.” 

 

Jaime finished chewing a bite of his lasagna and said, “I can understand that. My father has had a plan for me since the day I was born. It never seems to matter much what I want.” 

 

“Does that include the war?” 

 

He drew in a ragged breath and when he exhaled, he nearly extinguished the flame of the candle at the center of their table. “Yes, but it’s what comes after the war. If I survive...” He had to clear his throat, emotion creeping into his voice. “...he wants me to follow in his footsteps. Politics.” Jaime rolled his eyes. “I used to say I’d rather die than do that.” His sardonic laughter was too loud, drawing glances from nearby tables. He paused to take a sip of wine and change the subject. “If you could do anything, what would it be?” 

 

Brienne set her fork down and leaned back in her seat. She looked off to the side, dreamily. “I want a place where women can go and defy expectations. A gym, maybe? Boxing? Fighting. Learn the things men are taught.” 

 

The waiter stopped by their table to ask after them. He walked away and Jaime caught him whispering with two other members of the staff, laughing and pointing in the direction of their table. 

 

“I don’t know,” Brienne went on. “I look around Tarth and I see male soldiers readying for war and women baking them pies. I see young boys playing sports and young girls learning to sew. I can’t be the only woman on Tarth who would rather be on the field _playing_ football instead of sitting in the stands cheering?” 

 

Jaime smiled, imagining her wearing a helmet, barreling down a field with a football under her arm. 

 

“I don’t like that we’re supposed to be _one_ thing only. I want to fight in the war but I also want to go to a dance. I feel silly in this dress but I’m glad to be out. I changed my mind so many times,” she said. 

 

“Why did you decide to come out?” he asked. 

 

She wondered what reason to give. Should she mention the time a boy asked her to be his date to a school dance, only to learn that he’d never intended to dance with her, only humiliate her? Or should she talk about being the only waitress – including Gladys – who never had plans to rush to at the end of her shift? Brienne swallowed the lump in her throat and told him, “I work so much. I don’t ever get to do things like this. And, well... The people around here all know me. Or they think they do. It sounds nice to spend some time with people who have never met me.” 

 

Jaime flinched. The smile she fixed on her face hid something much darker than that. He squeezed his hands into fists under the table. She was a kind person, someone who seemed to understand him more than Stark or Greyjoy or Martell. Someone he had as much in common with, if not more, than any other soldier. He wished she would give up on the idea of going to the dance. Jaime wanted to spend the rest of his time with her, and if he told her the truth about why he kept delaying their arrival, she wouldn’t give him any time at all. 

 

Brienne looked at the clock on the wall. “Shouldn’t we be going?” 

 

“Right. I guess so.” 

 

* 

 

Jaime set a slow pace down the street. It was a quiet night, and the rhythmic tap of Brienne’s heels was sometimes the only sound. It lulled him, distracted him. 

 

“Have you thought about what you’ll do after the war? If you don’t follow your father’s plan?” she asked. 

 

He slowed to a stop, needing stillness to process her question. “I haven’t thought about it,” he said. “I’m afraid to plan for the future.” 

 

She regretted the question when she saw the way tears shined in his eyes. Brienne started walking again and soon felt him behind her, heard the lighter patter of his shoes on the ground. 

 

Soon, they could hear muffled music and were just around the corner from the tavern. Jaime reached out, cupping her elbow, getting her to turn and look at him. “We don’t have to go in there,” he said. 

 

“I told you, I want to.” 

 

He tugged on her arm. “Let’s go by the water.” 

 

“Jaime. What’s going on?” 

 

“I like talking with you,” he said, and it was the truth. “I’d rather go somewhere quiet and keep talking with you.” 

 

"Lannister!” 

 

 _Shit_ , Jaime thought, recognizing Euron’s voice. He turned to see his friend with a woman on his arm – short, pear-shaped, braces shining on her teeth – and knew it was too late to leave. 

 

“Jaime, this is Sheyla,” Euron said. After a beat he nudged his friend in the ribs and asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your date?” 

 

“Yes, of course. Euron, Sheyla... this is Brienne.” 

 

Brienne shook each of their hands and when she and Sheyla were both facing away from them, Euron mouthed, “Nice one.” 

 

Jaime could hear light chatter between the women and wondered how well they knew each other, if at all. He sidled up to Brienne, his hand on her back, ushering her ahead of his friend. The best he could do was keep his distance from his buddies. Keep their distance from Brienne. A few minutes inside and he could convince her to go somewhere else and disqualify her from the dogfight before she ever knew his original intentions. 

 

Opening the doors, they were assaulted by the stench of cigarettes and ale and an abundance of cologne. There was not much of a crowd. Ned and Oberyn spotted them all immediately, enthusiastically waving them over to where they stood with their dates near the jukebox. 

 

Jaime’s stomach tightened and his throat closed. His hearing was clouded by an internal conversation he was having about how to extract themselves from the tavern. Pretend to hurt himself? Spill ale on Brienne’s dress? 

 

Ned and Oberyn stood with their arms around their dates. They were not stunning girls, of course, but they were not grotesque and Jaime suddenly wanted to warn all of them to run. 

 

“Hello,” Brienne said, prompting Jaime to introduce her, and she thought he sounded flustered. One of the girls she recognized, a few years older than her in school, and Sheyla she knew from town. All three of them were dressed more casually than her – a striped turtleneck and pencil skirt, a navy jumper-dress over a white shirt, and a simple shift dress with no jewelry and flat shoes. 

 

As she was introduced to each of Jaime’s friends, it did not escape her how handsome they were. Their enthusiasm to meet her and their roving eyes made Brienne slink back and fold her arms across her chest. She could see and feel eyes of other attendees on them all, curious or confused or amused. She supposed that was not much different than any other occasion in her life and turned to Jaime to say, “Should we get a drink?” 

 

He hesitated too long and Oberyn said, “Jaime, get the lady a drink. I’ll go with you.” The two of them moved to the bar, Jaime standing so he could keep an eye on the group. 

 

“This is going to be a tough call, don’t you think?” Oberyn asked. 

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“The contest! The girls. Ned’s date has those teeth, but it kind of looks like you found a guy on the street and put him in a dress and-” 

 

Jaime leaned closer to him and said, “Fuck, Martell. Keep your voice down.” 

 

“They can’t hear me,” he said, taking notice of Jaime’s defensive tone and posture. He narrowed his eyes. “Wait, do you _like_ her?” 

 

The bartender handed Jaime two glasses of ale and he turned away from his friend, spilling some over the sides in his effort to flee. He returned to the group in the middle of their conversation about where Brienne met Jaime, and when he heard her say, “He’s been so kind, letting me rattle on when he obviously has a lot on his mind,” his skin crawled with self-disgust. 

 

The group stayed mostly in that spot and the men made sure no one was without a full glass of ale at all times. Brienne thought it odd how little dancing was taking place but didn’t quite have the gumption to suggest they do any. Periodically, Jaime leaned toward her and whispered that they should leave. She shook her head, interested in the men’s stories from basic training. 

 

Sheyla excused herself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” Brienne said, trailing behind her. 

 

They each went into a stall and shortly after Sheyla asked, “It’s not so bad, huh?” 

 

“Bad?” 

 

“Being in their stupid contest. You get free drinks and a night on a handsome soldier’s arm.” Brienne heard Sheyla exit her stall and run the water at the sink. “Plus, Euron bought the earrings I’m wearing and I get to keep them.” 

 

Brienne flushed the toilet and joined the other woman at the sink. “What contest?” 

 

Sheyla looked at Brienne’s reflection in the mirror. “Oh,” she said. “Nothing. Forget it.” 

 

She began to walk away and Brienne quickly darted in front of her, blocking the exit, soapy water dripping from her hands. “What are you talking about?” Brienne demanded to know. 

 

Sheyla chewed on the edge of her thumb. 

 

“What contest?” 

 

“Don’t get upset,” Sheyla said softly. “They’re about to go to war. Guys do stupid things but I think they get even worse when they’re scared shitless. I overheard Euron say he needed to find the ugliest girl on Tarth for a dogfight so I put on a frumpy dress and teased my hair too much. I mean, look at it this way. It’s the only time you or I will have such handsome dates, right?” 

 

Brienne was left standing there, arms hanging at her sides. Contest? She exited the bathroom, her limbs moving as if filled with lead. She lingered in the doorway, looking out to where Jaime stood with the others. She replayed the entire day backward, thinking of the intrusive way his friends looked her up and down. Jaime’s reluctance to arrive at the dance. The suggestion she show up in her uniform. His persistence in asking her to go. How odd she found it that he requested to sit in her section at the diner. It all made sense, and fury rose from the pit of her stomach to flare red in her chest and spread the stain to her face. She took several deep, calming breaths. This was nothing new, she thought. But it was different. She was going to be different, too. 

 

Brienne walked purposefully back to the group, grabbing a half-empty glass of ale from a table. She wasn’t going to be like Sheyla, flattered to be in their company, acquiescing to their cruelty for a token pair of earrings. She approached everyone and said, “Jaime. A word, please.” 

 

The other men raised their eyebrows and she saw the tension in Jaime’s shoulders. He turned to face her, looking stricken. 

 

“What is the prize tonight?” she asked. 

 

He stammered, opening and closing his mouth. 

 

“Is it only bragging rights?” 

 

“I don’t know wh-” 

 

“Please!” Brienne huffed. “Do not patronize me.” She moved her gaze to the other women. “Am I the only one who didn’t know she was part of a contest?” 

 

Sheyla backed up into the shadows and the other two women looked at each other, and the tears welling in their eyes answered Brienne’s question. 

 

Brienne looked directly at Jaime. “You’re a joke of a soldier. You wouldn’t know honor if it bit you on the ass.” 

 

“Please, Brienne. Can we go and I’ll expl-” 

 

“Fuck you,” she said. She lifted the glass and splashed what remained of the ale directly at his face. The liquid wet the front of his shirt, too, and everyone took a cautious step back. Brienne glared at him before turning and storming out of the tavern. 

 

Oberyn clapped his hand over Jaime’s shoulder. “We’ll get you a towel and another drink.” 

 

“No, don’t,” Jaime replied, using the sleeve of his coat to wipe across his face. He followed after Brienne, his brisk pace turning into a run when he didn’t see her right outside the door. 

 

She heard his feet pounding the pavement and her name being called, but Brienne kept walking. She moved faster, pumping her arms at her sides, when the sound of his steps grew increasingly louder. But the heel of her shoe caught in a crack in the sidewalk and she fell forward, landing on her hands and knees. _Great_ , she thought, _one humiliation after another._

 

“Are you okay?” Jaime asked, extending his hand. 

 

“I’m fine,” she spat, ignoring his offer of help. She climbed to her feet. The skin of her palms and knees stung from the scratch of the concrete. “Please go back to your charming friends and leave me alone.” Brienne stepped forward but he blocked her, and he blocked her again when she moved the opposite direction. Scowling, she lifted her hands and shoved against his chest, knocking Jaime off balance. 

 

He reached to the side and braced his hand on the brick exterior of the building. “I deserved that,” he said. “And more. You can slap me. Punch me. Kick me in the balls.” 

 

“All I want is to never see your face again,” Brienne told him, and even though he’d been cruel, she saw the way her words wounded him and felt a pang of regret. She knew immediately he was thinking about the war and how likely it was she _wouldn’t_ ever see his face again. “Please move.” 

 

Jaime looked at her and realized her eyes matched the sea surrounding the island. Her family made Tarth and she was of its waters, of its most beautiful sight. “I don’t want to leave here without apologizing.” 

 

“You said sorry.” 

 

“That’s not good enough. You deserve more.” 

 

“You’re right, I do. All of those girls do,” she said, pointing back toward the tavern. 

 

Jaime looked at the ground, nodding in agreement, and Brienne brushed past him. He followed behind her, matching her fast clip. 

 

“Now you’re stalking me,” she said. 

 

“I just want you to know that I changed my mind about the stupid fucking contest before we ever got to the tavern.” 

 

She kept walking and called out, “I don’t care. You’re an asshole for even thinking about that stupid fucking contest.” 

 

“I know. I am. We all are. It’s a dumb tradition in the service. A stupid thing guys do when they’re scared. And we are. Scared.” 

 

Brienne never slowed down, and soon – with Jaime talking behind her the whole way – they were standing outside the Sapphire Diner. She seemed even taller when she was angry, looking down at him, the blue lights from the diner’s sign glowing on her skin and hair. 

 

“Being scared does not excuse awful behavior,” she said. 

 

He nodded. 

 

“Goodbye, Jaime,” she said, turning toward the door. 

 

“Please, wait. Can we sit down and talk for five minutes?” he pointed to the window of the diner. 

 

“We’re closed.” 

 

“Out here then.” 

 

“I want to wash this junk off my face,” Brienne said, weary. 

 

Jaime leaned his back against the bricks and folded his arms. “I’ll wait here. However long it takes.” 

 

She unlocked the door and climbed the stairs leading to her apartment. Inside, she immediately kicked her shoes into a pile on the floor. Brienne walked to the bathroom and ran the water. She bent down, cupping her hands under the stream and splashing her face. She picked up the bar of soap and rubbed it hard against her cheeks, over her eyes, across her lips. The makeup dyed the white square in streaks of brown and orange. 

 

Brienne rinsed and held a towel to her face, wanting to scream into the threads. She sat on the closed toilet seat and stared at the pink rug on the floor. Her mind went back to the arcade and to their dance. She thought of the strip of photos in her purse. She hated Jaime most of all for ruining those perfectly wonderful, perfectly charmed memories. 

 

She expected he was already gone, already forgetting about her. She took her time changing out of the dress and into a robe. Poured a glass of milk. Rummaged through a pile of mail on the kichen table. Brienne crossed to the window overlooking the street and looked down, shocked to see Jaime had sat on the sidewalk, still waiting. He must have been cold, she thought. She opened the window and called down, “Just come up.” 

 

Jaime scrambled to his feet, through the unlocked door, and climbed the stairs. As he reached the top the door to her apartment opened and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her in a robe, her face washed clean. How had he not noticed before that she had a complexion like smooth marble? Why was he only just noticing the long, elegant column of her neck? Her body was a fascinating – broad frame and sturdy hips and shoulders concealing the individual, feminine features of her face and her lithe limbs. 

 

Brienne let him in and closed the door. “You can sit,” she said, taking a spot herself at the kitchen table. 

 

He did as she suggested. The vinyl tablecloth was a print of large orange and yellow flowers with bright green leaves. Jaime absently traced the petals and said, “I regretted asking you to the dance almost right away. I tried to change the plans but you insisted we go. And I was afraid if I told you the real reason I didn’t want to go to the dance you wouldn’t spend any time with me at all.” He paused, lifting his gaze to her face. “Because, you see, I wanted to spend the time I have left with you.” 

 

She sucked her bottom lip under her teeth, partially to hide the way she trembled and partially to hide the twitch of a smile. It was flattering, but Brienne didn’t want to be flattered by him. She didn’t want to be emotional over him. “That’s wonderful, Jaime, but when you needed a date for a... what did she call it? Dogfight? When you needed a date for a dogfight you thought of me. Nothing you say changes that.” 

 

“I know. But I never thought you were ugly, Brienne. I thought you were...” 

 

“Hideous? Awkward? Unpleasant?” 

 

“No,” he said, “different. Different from anyone I’ve ever met. Maybe I thought that meant the same thing as ugly at first. But not anymore.” 

 

Brienne looked at the clock on the wall. She thought how someday this would be an unpleasant but distant memory. That it might be difficult to even remember the details of his face and she might wonder, _what was that soldier's name? Jeffrey_? There was no point in letting the conversation linger – he'd had his say and they were mere strangers. She should have never invited him up. There was nothing between but a milkshake and liking the same book. “I’d say it’s been five minutes. I'm going to make a cup of tea and I think you should go.” 

 

He stood and asked, “Is it okay if I use your bathroom first?” 

 

She pointed at the doorway, to the left. As he walked away, she rose from her seat and went to the cabinet. 

 

Jaime could hear Brienne set a mug on the counter. He heard water filling a kettle. Heard her turning the dial on the stove and the hiss of heat lighting the burner. He peered around the doorframe to see her. The simplicity of her tasks, and the graceful way she used her hands and swayed from one spot to another, stirred something in Jaime. Sadness. Yearning. It made him think of the word home and wonder if he’d ever have one again, ever have need for one again once he left for the war. 

 

He rushed back into the kitchen and Brienne turned toward him, leaning against the edge of the counter. “Please don’t let me leave here knowing the last thing I did was hurt someone like you. I know I don’t deserve anything, and I’m not asking you to forget what I did, just hear me out. I don’t want to go and die thinking you don’t believe how sorry I am. How wrong I was.” He reached for her hips, his hands grasping at the rough cloth of her robe. “Please let me tell you how wrong I was. Please just keep talking with me. Please.” 

 

Brienne could see tears shining in his eyes. She saw fear in the way he clenched his jaw and felt his hands shaking where he gripped her hips. She thought what it must feel like to be on the verge of walking into a battle, facing almost certain death. “Okay,” she said, barely audible. 

 

He let out a ragged breath, relieved and pained. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met,” Jaime told her. “I wished I’d met you a long time ago.” 

 

“You wouldn’t have talked to me.” 

 

“You’re probably right,” he said. “Not at first.” 

 

“I _am_ right,” Brienne corrected him. 

 

Jaime smiled. He hooked his fingers around the thick sash holding the robe closed around her waist. “Okay.” He bent his neck, tipping his forehead against hers. “You are right and I was very, very wrong.” 

 

She felt the warmth of his breath – stale from drinking too much ale and not enough water, and yet somehow sweet. Her lips parted and even though she felt the sturdy kitchen counter behind her, Brienne felt her knees buckle and she curled her arms around him. 

 

Jaime’s lips brushed hers and he wondered how he ever thought they would be anything but supple. He pushed his hips forward and wondered how he ever doubted she had the soft, inviting curves of a woman. “I know you don’t want me to kiss you but I w-” 

 

Brienne silenced him when she opened her mouth against his. The warm, wet glide of his tongue made her toes curl against the cold linoleum. His arms encircled her and she felt weightless, like the floor had vanished and they were floating. The intrusive whistle of the kettle brought her back to the ground, though, and they slowly disentangled. 

 

He looked at his feet, certain that was the end. She would remember he was hateful and she hated him. But instead Brienne turned the stove off and took hold of Jaime’s hand, walking, pulling him with her until they were in her bedroom. “I don’t... I don’t expect...” he stammered. 

 

“Shh." She looked at him then as a frightened young man. Brienne knew she could send him off and he would go. She would never have to see him again. But the thought drained her breath, made her feel the sting of tears. Despite his cruel actions, she truly, deep down, believed much of their time together – talking about Selmy and battle, the arcade and their waltz, dinner and conversation over candlelight – had been genuine. She had seen the goodness in him and the ugliness in him. It made it easier to believe that Jaime had seen the ugliness in her and the beauty too. “You said you would tell me how wrong you were.” 

 

"I did. I will.” 

 

Brienne tugged at the sash around her waist. 

 

Jaime’s lips parted. He watched, rapt, as the thick cotton opened around her torso and she let it slide down her arms to pool at her feet. Her pale skin caught the moonlight shining in through the window. She had a pronounced collarbone, her cream-colored skin taut across the bone. Her breasts were small, yes, but he still longed to touch them, to see how perfectly each fit into the cup of his hand. His eyes followed the outline of her ribcage, the slight indentation of her waist. Jaime’s gaze reached the apex of her thighs and he licked his lips. “I was... I...” 

 

She blushed. He didn’t need to say what he had been wrong about, to list all the ways she was more beautiful than he’d guessed; Jaime said it with his eyes and the way his heavy gaze flooded her with heat and light. It was almost too much, and Brienne’s arm crossed her chest, covering herself. Her moment of boldness was gone and she pressed her thighs together, bending to pick up the robe. 

 

He found his footing then and moved toward her. “I’ve never been so wrong,” he said, reaching for her hands, helping her stand to her full height. Jaime reached to frame her face with his hands and touched his lips to hers, the pressure more urgent, the heat searing. 

 

Brienne leaned back to admit, “I’ve never slept with anyone before." 

 

“Neither have I,” Jaime told her, and soon the only sound in the room was the peeling away of his clothes and the sometimes tender, sometimes needy press of their lips and the squeak of the bed as their bodies fell back onto the mattress. 

 

* 

 

Brienne sat against the headboard, clutching the sheet to her chest. She looked down at where Jaime slept beside her, on his stomach, and tried to memorize his back like a map – smooth planes, rope of spine, the slight protrusion of shoulder blades. She thought about the ways sex had been different from what she expected and the ways it had been exactly as she’d always dreamt. Her mind wandered to the less joyful moments of the previous night, specifically to what Sheyla had said about how at least girls like them got to be taken out on a date by guys like Jaime and his friends. 

 

She felt satisfied and coy and maybe not beautiful, but feminine and pretty, and it wasn’t because Jaime Lannister took her to dinner and an arcade. It wasn’t even because he had sex with her. Brienne had found it in herself. She had finally refused to believe men who called her ugly and would mock her short hair and flat chest. She had decided to defy expectations. Jaime stirred beside her and she reached toward him, pressing her hand to the center of his back. 

 

He opened his eyes, blinking against the intrusion of sunlight, and pushed himself up on the heels of his hands. Looking at Brienne, he smiled and asked, “What time is it?” 

 

“Almost eight,” she said, and they both looked glum; he had to be on a bus in less than two hours. 

 

He leaned to the side, stretching for his lips to meet hers, and then he let his body collapse so that his head was resting on her lap. “You’re lucky,” Jaime whispered. 

 

“Why is that?” 

 

“You can’t go to war. I know you wish you could, but right now I’d give anything to be able to stay right here. Like this.” 

 

“But you’ll be fighting for your country. Doing good,” she reminded him, her fingers sliding up and down his arm. “I’m here doing nothing. Nothing good for anyone.” 

 

Jaime reluctantly left the soft warmth of her lap to sit up and look into her eyes. “But you have time, Brienne. To do the things you want. Promise me you will.” 

 

She sighed, nodded. 

 

“No, say it. Promise.” 

 

“I promise,” she said, her tone serious, her eyes holding his. 

 

Jaime smiled and kissed her until he knew he was on the verge of being late. 

 

He used her shower and when he came out of the bathroom, his coat folded over his arm, he found Brienne sitting at the kitchen table in her robe. She stood and they were quiet, still, only staring and trying to breathe. Her chin trembled and Jaime bit the inside of his cheek. 

 

“I’m not going to say goodbye,” he told her. 

 

“Okay,” she said, slowly closing the distance between them. 

 

Jaime buried his face in the crook of her neck when she drew him into a tight embrace. He smelled her soap, her skin. He held his breath, wanting to absorb the smell into his body, into his memory. He wanted to be hunkered down in his camouflage, hiding from enemy fire, and be able to smell Brienne instead of the sweat and blood and napalm. He kissed her, knowing that if he ever lay dying on a field, he wanted to be able to call up the feel of her lips. “Okay,” he said, pulling back, slowly letting go. He went to the door and while part of him wanted Brienne to follow, he couldn’t survive another embrace, another farewell. 

 

She watched him step out, reaching behind his back to close the door. The tears she’d been holding back pooled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Brienne darted to the window, looking out in time to see Jaime on the sidewalk. He crossed the street, his back to her. He turned around and she sobbed out loud, clutching the front of her robe where she could feel the thump of her heartbeat. Brienne smiled through her tears and lifted a hand, pressing her palm to the window. 

 

Jaime lifted his hand to wave. A large truck drove by and when it had passed, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard in 2019 to write Brienne wanting anything to do with Jaime after learning of the contest. But like the movie it's based on, it was a time when "boys will be boys" was more widely accepted. If you haven't seen the movie I highly recommend it. 
> 
> If you made it this far - thank you for reading!


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend for the last part to be so short, but it seemed best to end this way. Thanks again to everyone who read and left a comment!

**Tarth  
1966**

 

The bus bounced along the street and Jaime leaned against the window. He reached under the lapel of his green jacket to the interior pocket. He removed a portion of a photo strip, the bottom torn, the edges frayed. There were scratches and marks; it had been dropped in the mud, shot at, nearly singed by an explosion. He looked at it for a long while, until he felt the bus roll to a stop and slid the photos back into the pocket. 

 

Jaime stood from his seat. He walked down the aisle, drawing stares from the other passengers. There was no denying he was a soldier – or, rather, a former soldier – with his green jacket and hat, weathered boots, and the way he had flinched at the squeak of the brakes or a truck honking its horn. 

 

Jaime stepped down onto the sidewalk and waited for the bus to drive away, revealing the Sapphire Diner across the street. He took a deep breath, looked for oncoming cars, and crossed. 

 

The bells chimed when he entered and he winced at the sound. Jaime’s eyes wandered the space, a light crowd in between lunch and dinner. He stood at the counter and peeked back into the kitchen. 

 

“Can I help you?” a man asked. 

 

Jaime turned and knew the man had to be Brienne’s father. He was two inches taller, blue eyes, broad nose. “I was looking for Brienne,” he said. “Is she working today?” 

 

The man eyed him curiously before telling him, “Yes, but not here.” He waited a beat, getting a read on Jaime before adding, “Three doors down.” 

 

Confused and curious, Jaime thanked him and exited, bracing himself for the chime. He counted the storefronts – one, two, three. He tilted his head back to read the sign on the awning. It was a temporary banner, covering the letters of whatever had once occupied the space, that said simply _Gym_. He approached the window and pressed his face to the glass, not able to see much. 

 

Jaime tried the door and it opened. He walked inside and saw a boxing ring in one corner and a row of punching bags to the side of it. There were mats on the floor and a section with free weights. There were some framed photographs on the walls, all of women and young girls playing sports and being active. He didn’t see the spray bottle of glass cleaner on the floor and kicked it over, nearly tripping. 

 

“We’re not open,” a voice called out. 

 

He stilled. He considered fleeing. But then Jaime heard the patter of feet nearing him and Brienne’s voice saying again, “We’re not open. Come back in-” 

 

She stopped short at the sight of him. She had to blink several times to be sure he wasn’t a figment of her imagination or a shape made to look like him by the glare of the sun. How many times over the last three years had Brienne thought she saw him? Daydreamed of such a moment? She stepped closer and gasped quietly as he removed his hat. “Jaime.” Her eyes took him in, a light scruff on his face, his hair grown in and shaggy. She saw how his right arm was shorter than the left, and the sleeve of his jacket was folded and pinned; he had lost his hand. “Jaime,” she breathed his name. 

 

“You should really have a sign on the door that says you’re not open.” 

 

“I’ll suggest that to the owner.” 

 

“And It’s not safe to leave things sitting out on the floor. Lawsuit waiting to happen.” 

 

“Nobody was supposed to come barging in.” 

 

“Are you really calling this place Gym?” 

 

“Of course not. That’s until the sign is made.” 

 

Jaime smiled. He studied her, noting her face was thinner. She wore a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and her arms were leaner. He had been scared she wouldn’t recognize him, maybe wouldn’t remember him. But when she suddenly rushed toward him and her arms closed around him, he felt safe for the first time in years. He felt alive. He felt home.


End file.
